


Security Measures

by liketolaugh



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, モブサイコ100 | Mob Psycho 100
Genre: Autistic Kageyama "Mob" Shigeo, First Meetings, Gen, Gifted Index, POV Phil Coulson, Phil Coulson Has the Patience of a Saint, Pre-Canon, SHIELD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 10:56:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19462543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liketolaugh/pseuds/liketolaugh
Summary: At nine years old, Kageyama Shigeo is the youngest person on SHIELD's growing list of people with special abilities. Two days after the accident, Phil Coulson shows up in Seasoning City Hospital and catches him in the hallway. There's a protocol for this sort of thing. Sort of.





	Security Measures

**Author's Note:**

> This is meant to take place in 2002, before most metahumans had come into SHIELD's line of sight. The Gifted Index hasn't even been officially put together yet.

Kageyama Shigeo was a nervous, skittish child, which wasn’t at all what you wanted to see in a boy with the power to throw a high schooler through a brick wall. Admittedly, this may have been something of an unfair assessment – most children would be frightened after being approached by a government agent, and Shigeo’s brother, by all accounts his main source of support, was still confined to his hospital room.

An offering of strawberry milk from the hospital’s vending machine appeased Shigeo enough for him to follow Coulson into a deliberately vacated meeting room. Coulson tried not to feel too horribly much like a predator, and reached into his jacket to flick on his recorder.

Once there, Coulson gestured for Shigeo to hop onto one of the chairs, and then sat on another one a safe distance away, neatly folding his hands in his lap.

Shigeo studiously avoided his gaze and drank from his milk box, feet not quite touching the ground.

“You don’t need to be nervous,” Coulson said at last, breaking the silence. Shigeo’s eyes flicked up to his, pinched and uneasy, and Coulson offered a faint, genial smile. “You’re not in trouble, Mr. Kageyama.”

The formal form of address had earned him a nervous giggle the first time, but not now. Shigeo stared at him for a long moment, and then lowered the straw from his mouth, holding it between his hands on his lap in a childish mirror of Coulson’s pose. His head was tilted back to look at Coulson, but his gaze quickly skittered off to one side. His mouth shut tight.

Coulson took the silence for an answer and continued, “I work for the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division – SHIELD for short.” Shigeo didn’t reply or look back at him, but his fingers started to tap at his milk box. “One of my jobs there is to talk to people like you, when we find them. I just want to ask you a few questions – what you can do, when it started, and the like.” He paused, regretful, and then continued, “And I’d like to ask you about the events two days ago.”

For a moment, Coulson thought Shigeo still wasn’t going to answer. Children could be like that after a traumatic experience, speaking only when absolutely necessary, and sometimes not even then. Coulson may need to get creative with this one.

Shigeo was the youngest superhuman currently on record. There wasn’t really any protocol for this yet.

Shigeo’s breath hitched, and one of the chairs started spinning. Coulson glanced at it, startled, and then another followed, and two more, rolling away from the table. In twos and threes, every remaining chair in the room started to bump and spin, loud and cacophonous. Shigeo shrunk back, ducking into himself and hiding his face. “I- um, ah, I-”

Carefully relaxed, Coulson opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Shigeo took an exaggeratedly deep breath, and his shoulders relaxed. The spinning stopped, and after a moment, the boy lifted his head, eyes on the ground.

“I’m sorry,” Shigeo said, soft and only subtly wavering.

“It’s alright,” Coulson said mildly. It took more than a few moving chairs to rattle him, these days. “That was a bit much, wasn’t it?”

Shigeo nodded, gaze focusing on the middle distance, fingers still clasped tight around his box of milk. Coulson waited for him to speak, patient.

“What does SHIELD do?” Shigeo asked at last, gaze shifting up to Coulson again. “Is it American?”

“More or less,” Coulson confirmed, head tilted just slightly to consider Shigeo. “You could consider us a defense organization, on a global basis.” To Shigeo’s ducked head, he added, with a small twist of a smile, “We make sure no one takes over the world, among other things.”

Shigeo’s head came up again, and he nodded slowly, bringing up the milk box to sip from it again.

Coulson let the conversation lapse into silence for a moment, reassessing his approach. Understandably, there wasn’t much data on Kageyama Shigeo or his powers – mostly the standard pediatric reports done for any child, children’s rumors, some neighborhood stories. Two key eyewitness reports to the incident that had initially drawn SHIELD’s attention. All assembled into the dossier that would become Shigeo’s file, without much psychological data to be getting on with. That was fine.

Easily overwhelmed, Coulson decided. Maybe some trouble with verbal communication and eye contact. Best chance was to give him control of the pace of the conversation… and maybe a distraction.

An idea struck, and he produced two extraneous sheets of paperwork, turned them over to their blank backs, and took a pen to scratch in two words in large characters, one on each sheet. Shigeo watched him, nose scrunching up.

‘Red’ and ‘green’ – red light, green light. Basic children’s game.

“Here,” he offered, setting them on the table between them. Shigeo leaned over to look, toes just brushing the floor as he kept his balance, and Coulson tapped one of the sheets. “Would you like to play a game, Mr. Kageyama?”

“…Okay,” Shigeo agreed after a moment, scooting back. He’d already gone hunched and tense again. “What game?”

“It has two parts,” Coulson said, watching Shigeo’s expression closely. “If you point at ‘red’, I’ll stop talking. If you point at ‘green’, I talk again.” He paused. After a long moment, Shigeo’s expression brightened subtly, and he pointed to green. Coulson smiled, and continued, “If _I_ point to green, you lift some of the things in this room, and if I point to red, you set them down. Sound good?”

Shigeo mulled that over, and then smiled faintly. He nodded. “What do you want me to lift?”

“Well.” Coulson glanced around the room, considering. “Why don’t you give me a guess, Mr. Kageyama? I’m sure you know how much you can lift better than I do.”

Shigeo looked around. “I don’t know,” he said. “I can lift everything.”

Coulson blinked, taking another swift look at the room’s contents. At least 400, maybe 450 pounds total. “Separately or together?” he asked, for clarity’s sake.

“Together,” Shigeo said, without any particular inflection to reveal whether he was embarrassed or proud or wary.

“I think the chairs will do for now,” Coulson said after a moment. “But I appreciate your honesty.”

Shigeo blinked at him, puzzled. “Why would I lie?”

Right. Nine years old.

“I don’t know,” Coulson lied with a faint smile, and tapped ‘green’.

Shigeo waved his hand vaguely, and all of the chairs lifted as one. This included the two holding Shigeo and Coulson, which Coulson had not considered, though he should have. He glanced down as the chairs came to a bobbing stop halfway between the floor and ceiling, and decided to let it slide.

When he looked back up, Shigeo was looking at him. The box of milk was still in his hand.

“What does ‘people like me’ mean?” he asked.

Ah, the easy question. Coulson took a moment to consider his answer.

“You know that you can do something no one else can do,” Coulson started carefully. Shigeo nodded. “You’re not the only person like that, Mr. Kageyama. People with special abilities – gifts, you could say, or powers – they pop up every once in a while. Like Captain America.”

Shigeo nodded slowly, and Coulson let out a breath and tapped red. Shigeo’s eyes flickered to his hand, and without any motion at all, the chairs lowered, hitting the ground with barely a bump. Then Shigeo leaned over and pressed his hand to red for a while.

Finally, Shigeo tapped green and leaned back again, still watching the papers.

“Why?” Shigeo asked, rolling his milk between his palms. Coulson hesitated for a split second before he answered. Shigeo’s focus was on the middle distance again.

“It’s a safety measure. You could cause a lot of damage with your powers, if you chose to. SHIELD prefers to keep an eye on people like that, just in case.”

Red again, and Coulson tapped green. Shigeo didn’t look over as the chairs lifted again, this time drifting idly in a slow circle, each chair at a slightly different pace so some of them bumped gently in midair. After a moment, the papers lifted to follow them, with no flutter to indicate that they were floating in the wind. Shigeo finished his milk, and only then spoke again.

“Am I dangerous?” Shigeo asked at last, lifting his head but not looking at Coulson.

Green.

Coulson stared out at the room, a dozen large chairs floating in an idle whirl, and then at Shigeo, posture hunched but giving no visible sign of effort. He thought of the street side he’d seen pictures of, a stone wall shattered across the road. “You tell me.”

A bare moment’s hesitation, and then Shigeo swallowed.

“Yeah,” he whispered, barely audible.

The chairs shivered, and perhaps too hastily, Coulson tapped red. Shigeo let the chairs down without looking up, and the signal papers landed neatly on the table beside them. Shigeo curled into himself, legs lifting to cover his chest, and Coulson was forcibly reminded of why this meeting was taking place in a hospital’s meeting room.

“Hey,” he said, voice softening. “You know they’re all going to be fine. Your brother is being released later today, isn’t he?” Shigeo nodded, not looking up. “The high schoolers too. Two of them got out yesterday, and the last will be out sometime in the next two days.”

Coulson tapped green, though he was beginning to suspect Shigeo wouldn’t show any signs of strain anytime soon. A long, solid stretch would be his best bet from this point, he thought.

A moment passed, and then the chairs lifted again, as smooth and steady as ever.

“I’m sorry,” Shigeo whispered, soft and aching. One of the chairs spun for a moment, and the rest shivered, including Coulson’s. “It was an accident.”

Coulson remembered the reports. That was a hell of an accident.

“I believe you,” Coulson said calmly. “Can you explain to me what happened?”

Shigeo looked up at him, the bump and bob of the chairs becoming more pronounced. He nodded, and then tapped red.

Their chairs made a full circle around the table, and the others shuffled and bumped. Coulson idly watched his feet dangle and then discreetly checked that his recorder was still going.

“Some high schoolers attacked me and Ritsu,” Shigeo said haltingly. “Because they wanted our New Years money. They grabbed Ritsu, and… and I think I hit my head.” Shigeo swallowed, his shoulders coming up around his ears. He looked like a frightened child. Some of the chairs banged into each other harshly, and Shigeo didn’t seem to notice. “And when I woke up, the wall was broken, and my hands were bloody, and everyone else was on the ground.”

According to reports, one of the high school boys had actually been halfway through the wall. Coulson said nothing.

Shigeo’s breath caught on a gasp, and he reached up to rub at his eyes, the milk carton falling from his hands to tumble off his lap and onto the ground. The taste of burnt sugar zapped across Coulson’s tongue.

“I didn’t want to hurt anyone,” Shigeo insisted to no one. The chairs all rose about a foot and didn’t fall again. Shigeo breathed in, hitching and shuddering.

Coulson bit his tongue on a response and waited until Shigeo gave the go-ahead before asking, even and cautiously nonjudgemental, “Do you lose control like that often?”

Shigeo’s breath hitched again, and he shook his head.

“No,” he whispered. “But other ways. Like…” He trailed off, wrapping his arms around his knees. “When I get upset. But I, I’ve never hurt R-Ritsu before.”

He gasped involuntarily again, tears spilling onto his cheeks from eyes gleaming russet red, and the keen of an upset child erupted from his lungs. The chairs lurched too, most of them colliding harshly, and Coulson couldn’t stop himself from gasping in stuttered alarm as he was almost thrown off. The table rattled loudly.

Shigeo’s head shot up, and the whine cut itself off in another gasp. His breath was still fast, but after a minute of staring, the boy looked away and took a deep, long breath, and then let it out. Then again, more steadily. He wiped his tears away, and with another breath, his expression dimmed, becoming almost blank. The chairs went dead still, not even bobbing in place.

Coulson’s heart was beating faster than he wanted to admit. He’d been caught by surprise.

Shigeo looked up, eyes meeting his, expression carefully closed off.

“Sorry,” Shigeo said softly. His hand stretched out absently, and the milk carton he’d dropped earlier lifted from the ground into his hand, from where he tucked it into his lap, behind his curled legs.

Coulson let go of the arms of his chair and did not ask Shigeo to put them down.

“My powers used to be a lot weaker,” Shigeo said eventually, studying his knees. “So it didn’t matter so much when I lost control. But I don’t… I mean. I don’t think that’s true. Anymore.” He tilted his head, slow and distant. “It’s kind of… scary, now.”

A minute of quiet passed. The chairs still hung, motionless, in the air.

“It looks like you’ve started to figure out how to regain control,” Coulson told Shigeo after a while. “That’s good; it’s progress. Keep it up. Even so, SHIELD is going to want to keep an eye on you.” He paused on Shigeo’s signal, and tapped red. Shigeo didn’t notice, tapping green, and Coulson continued, “An agent, or more likely a rotating cycle of agents, will be assigned to watch you. They’ll make contact if you step out of line, or if we need more information.”

“Will they stop me from hurting anyone?” Shigeo asked without looking up.

“They’ll try,” Coulson said firmly, and tapped red again, more pointedly. They hit the ground with the same gentle bump as before, and Coulson sighed, a little relieved. “How did that feel, Shigeo?” They’d been here around twenty minutes, and there had been the outbursts too.

Shigeo considered. “I’m kind of tired,” he decided, “and my head hurts.”

Kind of tired, and his head hurt. After holding easily 250 pounds in the air for upwards of twenty minutes. Coulson made a note that a more formalized assessment would need to be performed at a later date.

“How did you _get_ your powers?” he asked, bemused. If they could bottle it- well, it could be a second coming of the super soldier program. Shigeo blinked at him, legs dropping to dangle down again.

“I’ve always had them,” he said plainly. “Mom says that the first time I touched a spoon, it bent.” After a moment, he added, “She might be teasing though.”

Coulson exhaled. So much for that. And naturally occurring, that meant there were more, which was- a nightmare to contemplate. Shigeo seemed to be a reserved and anxious but ultimately well-meaning child – others might not have such a good nature.

SHIELD would have to be on the lookout. That would have been the case anyway, he supposed.

“One last thing,” he said. “You can’t mention any of this to anyone, do you understand?”

Shigeo frowned. “About my powers?”

“About SHIELD,” Coulson clarified. “It’s top secret – our work is highly sensitive, and surveillance is non-negotiable. If your parents knew, they’d probably try to argue about it, and we can’t have that.”

“Okay,” Shigeo agreed easily, feet tapping lightly against each other. The milk carton was back in his hands, empty though it was.

Coulson raised his eyebrows, curious despite himself. “Not even a little complaint?”

Shigeo shook his head.

“I understand,” he said, quiet and unworried, but avoiding Coulson’s gaze studiously. “You’re just being careful.”

After everything, Coulson probably should have expected that. He felt very, very tired. “I’m glad you understand. Would you like me to walk you back, Shigeo? Your parents must be worried.”

“Yes, please.”

**Author's Note:**

> Mob is hard. I need more practice with him.


End file.
